OK, set the scene: total panic because the baby has not kicked since yesterday morning. And, in a magnificent display of indecision, we did not go to the hospital in the evening, and instead persuaded ourselves that if there were no kicks this morning, we would call the hospital first thing.
Sure enough, we did not sleep a wink all night. Panic is a marvellous insomniac.
First thing today we called the midwife team. Our assigned midwife gives a mobile number, which she turns on from 7.30am until (from memory) 5.30pm. Except that she does not work every day, reasonably enough, and the voicemail message does not say if the mobile is off because she is busy, or off because she has the day off.
Switch to plan B: call the hospital midwife team, from 8.00am. After calling and calling and calling, they answer and say "Drink a glass of water and come in," which Priti understands to be the equivalent of "calm down dear."
We go to St George's.
The midwife there, Carlene, is *excellent* and explains that "drink a glass of water" actually meant "drink a glass of water," as this should wake the baby - and it might kick.
Instead, Carlene found the baby's heartbeat, we were immediately happy, and - guess what? Yup, Toblet The Bump starts kicking like Eric Cantona.
Little bugger.
Panic over, as you were, as you were